Even
though my father and I weren't close, his death left a hole in me. That's
what I thought at first. After a while I realized the hole had always
been there. My father's disappearance only enlarged it, making it big
enough to really see and, in time, to appreciate. Nothing can fill up
that hollow place, but certain things, as they move through it, feel good.

The sound
of Jay Farrar's voice is one of those things. He is (was?) the lead singer
and guiding force of the band Son Volt, whose three CDs have brought me
a remarkable comfort for nearly a decade. Especially satisfying turned
up in the truck, Trace, Straightaways, and Wide Swing Tremolo
have easily been my favorite driving music, whether it was for days of
traveling across the country or just running an errand in town. To me,
a lot of those songs seem to be about driving: about having to leave or
wanting to, about passing through, about heading toward another place
that might be where you belong.

Sebastopol
is a solo project that Jay Farrar has been working on during the last
few years. (The most recent Son Volt album came out in 1998.) When I read
that a solo recording was in the works, I wondered how much it would wind
up sounding like Son Volt. Although he has produced a band sound, playing
on multiple tracks himself and having various musicians sit in (Gillian
Welch and Kelly Joe Phelps among them), it isn't the same as before. It's
as distinct as the atmosphere of autumn is from summer. And as with most
changes of season, there were aspects I liked right off the bat and some
that took a little getting used to. Before long though, Sebastopol
became the main soundtrack of this strange October, 2001.

While
many fans and critics are eager to focus on his use of a "broader palette,"
the most significant change seems less external, more to do with where the
work is coming from, and where it goes, than how the arrangements were built.
These
songs move me in an different way than Son Volt does. Rather than entering
the familiar hollow place, these new songs reach directly toward what I've
found and haven't lost, bringing my attention to what I'd miss most. It's
as if, after all these years of driving with Son Volt, I've finally pulled
into my own driveway. And there's a moment, before I go inside, when I stop
and notice the weather, notice our life as a kind of light that is resting
on the ordinary view and revealing its surprising beauty. That's what Sebastopol
reminds me of: that moment. It's good to be home.
 James Meyers